


Choices

by Corvid_Knight



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts, jesus i was fucked up when i wrote this, my tumblr is knight-of-heart-and-art
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 19:38:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13130661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corvid_Knight/pseuds/Corvid_Knight
Summary: Dirk accidentally goes through Jake's bag and ends up thinking about some things.Please be aware that this fic is basically Dirk thinking about killing himself. Please don't read it if that's going to unduly upset you.





	Choices

Jake left his shit here again, and you're not up to calling him over to come get it. Even less up to grabbing the backpack and heading over to deliver it yourself. At the moment, you're emotionally competent to wander vaguely around your rooms, noticing shit that needs attention and highkey hating yourself for not providing it. 

His bag's on the floor, though, and if you leave it there it's going to end up trashed. Picking it up isn't a big thing, either; that, at least, you can do. 

Unsurprisingly, you succeed in fucking this small task up. Par for the course, for you at least. The bag tips when you pick it up, the contents scattering themselves across the carpet, and you swear at yourself—quietly, because Hal's almost certainly monitoring every audio pickup in here—and kneel down to gather them up. 

A pretty big chunk of you is asking why you bother. Pointing out that you could be doing something else right now, maybe not something useful, you're not capable of actually being off use to anyone including yourself, but _something._

_Stop. It's Jake's things; if I want to neglect shit I'll neglect_ my _shit, not his._

First aid kit, which thankfully didn't pop open when it hit the floor. Notebook, with his bold, messy handwriting across both covers. Extra shirt. 

Gun. 

Everything else you place carefully back in the bag, but you pick up the handgun and just let it rest in your hand for a minute. It's probably loaded. The only reason he has a gun in his backpack at all is his there-just-might-be-something-outside-I'll-need-to-defend-myself-from mentality, and the unconscious expectation that he'll be attacked by some large animal would dictate that the weapon be kept ready. Even if it's not loaded, there'll be ammo somewhere in the bag itself, within easy reach. 

_Yeah, really easy. You're being stupid, Dirk._

You don't disagree with that thought. The real question is whether you're stupid for having the gun in your hand at all, for just hesitating and thinking about the damn thing, or for not checking to see if it's loaded. 

_And if it is?_

If it is. 

If. 

Gunshot wounds are messy. You know that. You've indulged your morbid curiosity and looked images up online, ignored Hal's sarcastic jabs about paraphilias and gore kinks and wiped your history afterwards; you know what it looks like when someone shoves a barrel in their mouth and pulls the trigger. It's messy. Maybe gutting yourself or slicing your throat open would be be worse, but you can't be sure. If you angled it right, though, made sure the blast was going to more-or-less immediately destroy the right sections of your brain, it'd hurt less, which is a definite plus. 

_It would be fast. You like fast. It wouldn't be that bad of a mess._

Yeah. True. Probably true. And Hal's already set up pretending to be you, actually doing his job as an auto-responder for once; there's a pretty good chance that it'd be a couple days or weeks before anyone realized your absence. 

When you flip the gun over to check, it's loaded after all. 

_Make a choice, bitch. You can't just sit here and wait to die on your own forever._

You could, actually. That's a valid option, if not a very appealing one. Less appealing than using the gun. 

But. 

Jake. Roxy. Dave. John. Rose. 

You drop the gun on top of the bag—not in, even though getting it out of sight would be a better course of action—and get to your feet. Your shades are on the charger in the bedroom, the lenses flashing with multiple conversations as you pick them up. Only two of the chats have your orange text; it seems Hal's not actually fulfilling his duty all that well.

Jake's online and talking to Hal, some kind of debate about aliens that you don't bother to read. Interrupting is rude as fuck, but you do it anyway. 

TT: Hey.   
TT: You left some stuff over here. Want to come pick it up and maybe hang out for a while?   
TT: I'm sure Hal can find a pirated version of whatever movie you're arguing over so you can both continue this and let me have a little company. 

GT: Sounds lovely to me! ill be there in a bit! 

_It's that easy,_ you think. _That simple, at least. Easy isn't the word._

Today is one more day you'll make it through. And you'll ask Jake to please not bring guns over, or at least make sure to take them home with him. Whatever you think sometimes, you do need to stick around.


End file.
